


when life hands you (lulu)lemons

by carpemermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Competition, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Fluff, Joggers, Kissing, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Older Draco Malfoy, Older Harry Potter, POV Harry Potter, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 05:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12183807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/pseuds/carpemermaid
Summary: Harry grows bored with his usual running path, and finds himself a surprising new jogging partner when he takes a different route.





	when life hands you (lulu)lemons

**Author's Note:**

> My arm was twisted into writing this one so that I could bless you all with the mental image of Draco wearing lululemons when he’s older. Thanks a bunch to [shitftylinguini](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com) for being a peach and giving this a once over for me!
> 
> Also, if you're like me and you need more of this Draco in your life, check out the conversation thread in the comments between aibidil and myself below for more hahahaha!

Harry’s calves burn as he drags in another breath of air. Dried leaves crunch under the soles of his trainers as they slap the pavement. When he reaches the usual bend in his route, he decides to take an impromptu turn in the other direction for once, growing bored of the path he usually takes on his run.

Harry jogs across a towpath bridge and takes another turn that will take him toward the river.

As Harry turns his head to admire the fresh sights, he bumps, quite literally, into a solid form, one that shouts and whirls on him. Harry trips over one shoelace that’s got too long a tail, and windmills his arms to save himself from toppling over completely. The person he ran into is already telling him off while Harry looks down to glare at his ruddy laces.

“Watch it, you idiot. Do you not have the common sense to look where you’re going?” And Harry blinks, because he _knows_ that familiar, irate voice.

He looks up and there is Draco Malfoy: hands on his trim hips, pale cheeks flushed pink from exertion, grey eyes bright and mercurial, and his hair tied half up into a small, messy bun. Harry’s gaze travels over Malfoy once, taking in the designer running clothes and he nearly bites his lip when he sees Malfoy’s long legs encased in black lycra.

“Malfoy,” Harry says, surprised. Malfoy breaks off his rant about runner’s etiquette and blinks at him.

“Oh. Potter.” Malfoy looks away and eyes him out of the corner of his eye, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His mouth pinches together. “I…didn’t realise it was you.”

“Yeah,” Harry says uncomfortably. He glances around the street they’re on. “Do you live nearby?”

Malfoy blinks again and faces Harry fully once more. Harry can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to his lithe runner’s body—his thighs are taut and muscular, but lean, and they look bloody good in the joggers. They look expensive and refined, just like him, making Malfoy look like he’d fit right into the sportswear ads as the model. Harry has no idea what brand they are, but he’s certain they’re designer. Malfoy would never be the type to settle for JD Sports, where Harry buys all of his workout clothes when he’s worn holes into the ones he’s got.

“I do,” Malfoy says. He frowns as his eyes roam over Harry, and he can _feel_ Malfoy judging him. “Do _you_?”

“Er, sort of,” Harry says. He’s ended up on the edge of a posher part of London instead of staying where he typically runs. “I live over in Islington. I don’t normally run here, I just got bored with my usual route.”

“I see,” Malfoy says, his face clearing. He eyes Harry critically and rubs long fingers over his pointed chin. “Well, run with me then. Might as well, since you’re here. Maybe this way I’ll keep you from barreling me over.”

Harry means to refuse the offer, to tell Malfoy he’s just going to go back the way he normally goes, because this interaction is bloody weird. Instead, he hears himself say, “Yeah, alright.”

And, somehow, that’s how Harry ends up with a new running route and a jogging partner in Draco Malfoy. He doesn’t know how his life has come to this.

*******

“Keep up, Potter,” Malfoy barks at him, a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth up as he bounds easily down the path they’re running together. “Merlin, you’re so out of shape, old man.”

Harry wheezes, trying to massage out the stitch in his side. The sun is just peeking over the horizon, but it’s still freezing out. His eyes have been too occupied with Malfoy’s running outfit to really focus on his breathing patterns, and he’s paying for it.

Today, Malfoy’s wearing the lululemon’s with the mesh paneling that accentuate the long line of his legs, giving Harry a peek at the creamy skin beneath. Harry’s lucky he doesn’t pop a fat chub in his track shorts, because the flimsy material would do nothing to hide a problem like that. Luckily, he isn’t eighteen anymore, but another glance at Malfoy’s long legs still make his dick twitch with interest.

Like all of Malfoy’s collection of distracting joggers, these are just as well-fitted to his body. Harry’s certain the wanker has the entire collection; he’s wearing something different every morning when they meet up.

“I’m not,” Harry protests, far too out of breath for the short distance they’ve jogged so far. He’s never felt so out of sorts as he does when he jogs with Malfoy in the mornings. “And I’m younger than you, anyway.”

“Yes, but look at me,” Malfoy says, gesturing at himself proudly. “I’m obviously in better physical condition. Aren’t you meant to be an Auror? It’s a miracle you manage to chase down the deadliest Dark wizards with that lump of pudge around your midsection.”

Harry shoves him lightly, shaking his head as he gasps for more air in his lungs.

The _real_ problem he has is that Malfoy insists on wearing the tightest joggers known to man, the outline of his cock on display for anyone to see. And Harry _wants_ it—wants to taste it, to feel it filling him up, to press Malfoy into the alcoves they run past and cup his hand over the spandex material while he snogs Malfoy’s lush mouth.

“Auror training in the UK has some of the most rigorous workout regimes in Europe,” Harry says, just to be contrary. He doesn’t know what pudge Malfoy is referring to; Harry thinks he’s gotten rather hench with the newer training routines—he’s got abs now.

When Malfoy snorts and sprints ahead, Harry’s eyes drift down to Malfoy’s pert arse. He licks his lips, watching the way the globes of his arse bounce, the way his thigh muscles contract with each springing step. Malfoy is a bloody beautiful runner, like he was born for it.

He turns to look back at Harry over his shoulder. He looks ethereal and strong, beautiful with the sunrise creating a halo behind his light hair. It’s down today, swishing back and forth and brushing the sharp edges of Malfoy’s jaw. Harry wants to rush up and kiss him so badly that he can feel the ache of it echoing in his body.

Malfoy spins to jog backwards so that he can face Harry, calling to him. “Coming, old man?”

“I will be, in the shower,” Harry mutters to himself as he picks up his pace to catch up to Malfoy’s sprint.

Malfoy reaches out to sock him playfully in the arm when Harry pulls even with him, and Harry retaliates by grabbing the hood of Malfoy’s track jacket and tossing it over his head so that it covers his eyes, sprinting ahead in their unspoken race. Malfoy yelps and pushes it out of his face, chasing after Harry with a competitive look settling over his face.

“Oh, you’re on, Potter.” He laughs as his long legs carry him with practiced ease. “Do you really think you can beat me at this? I run marathons now, you know.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Harry replies, digging his steps in harder when Malfoy comes closer. “You won’t sodding shut up about it!”

“Because they’re invigorating!” Malfoy says cheerfully. “They give out medals! I have a whole case of them displayed in my flat!”

Harry shakes his head and laughter erupts out of him, throwing off his pacing. “Of course you do, Malfoy. Only you…”

Malfoy wins the impromptu race to the lamppost on the corner, crowing about his victory in complete Malfoy fashion, rubbing it in Harry’s face. Harry can’t even fault him for it, because he looks happy and that makes something shift in Harry’s chest.

“So, I’ve won, obviously,” Malfoy says airily, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“Yeah? And?” Harry asks, trying to catch his breath. It seems an impossible feat whenever he’s around Malfoy. Merlin, he’s grown into such an unfairly fit bastard.

“Well, I deserve a prize for winning,” Malfoy says, as if it should be clear.

“I don’t have any medals on me, sorry,” Harry says with a shrug. “Can’t give you anything.”

“Can’t you? If you don’t have a medal, I’ll just have to take something else from you.” Something in Malfoy’s tone has changed, shifted into something Harry can’t place. Malfoy takes a step closer and he’s looking at Harry seriously. “I’m sure I can think of several things.”

And then, somehow, Malfoy’s kissing Harry, his hair backlit by the golden sunrise over the Thames and his hands settling on Harry’s chest and hip. It takes Harry a moment to catch up—his brain is sluggishly processing that this is actually happening, it’s not a dream for once—and then he’s kissing back, his fingers sliding up the smooth lycra covering Malfoy’s thighs and gliding over his firm arse. He’s too out of breath to kiss Malfoy properly, and Malfoy seems to be breathing heavier than he usually is after a run—the tosser has a knack for distance running—but it’s perfect. Their tongues slide together in a deliciously slow drag; Harry can taste Malfoy’s expensive chapstick—organic, no doubt.

Harry smoothes his hands over Malfoy’s back and holds him closer. He gives in to the desire to run his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, pushing it back from his face. It’s damp with a sheen of sweat along his scalp, and it makes Malfoy seem more human to him, something he can reach. Malfoy’s making small sounds, kissing him with increasing urgency.

A car horn honks at them as it blares by and they pull apart. Harry keeps Malfoy close, not wanting to let him go.

“Was that a good prize?” he asks.

Malfoy looks soft, with his cheeks ruddy from exercise and his eyes bright in the morning light, his hair out of place and darkening to a golden colour where it’s sweaty. Harry wants to kiss him again, immediately.

“Perfect,” Malfoy murmurs, leaning in again.

If Harry weren’t in broad daylight, in the middle of the street, he’d gladly hoist Malfoy up, encourage him to wrap his legs around his waist so they could rut together, pressing against a wall in the closest alleyway they can find.

Instead, Harry meets Malfoy halfway, tracing his tongue over his lower lip and murmurs into the kiss, “Want to come back to mine?”

He grins when Malfoy nods, his fingers gripping Harry’s old t-shirt.

“Race you there,” Harry says, and he’s tearing off before Malfoy’s even aware of what’s happening. After a beat, he can hear Malfoy’s trainers slapping the pavement in pursuit of Harry.

“That’s cheating, Potter!”

Their laughter echoes as they run towards Grimmauld Place.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos + Comments are ♥ | Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://carpemermaidtales.tumblr.com)!


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